


Derwent Hall

by siriusblue



Series: In A Hundred Lifetimes [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU-1920's, Based on a Tumblr Post, Greg is a bit of a slut, Hint of post-war PTSD, House Parties, Lord Gregory Lestrade, M/M, Master/Servant, Mycroft takes care of him, Mycroft the Valet, Oscar Wilde trial mentioned, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Post WW1, Rating May Change, Servant to friends to lovers, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-06-24 12:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: 1920's AU Lord Gregory Lestrade inherited a lot when his father died. Unlimited wealth, a title and Derwent Hall, the ancestral seat of the Lestrade family for generations. He also inherited his father's valet, Mycroft Holmes. Reliable, discreet and seemingly unshockable, Mycroft Holmes is just the kind of valet Lord Gregory needs. However there is more to both men than the rich playboy and the devoted servant and as time passes, they slowly discover exactly what and what happens when the lines between master and servant become blurred.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Black_Dawn for this one and everyone else for encouraging me. That said, once it was in my head, I couldn't NOT write it. I beg your patience as I also have another AU on the go but, if you're familiar with my stuff, you'll know I update pretty regularly.

DERWENT HALL

The roar of a motorbike engine alerted the waiting staff to the arrival of the new master as they lined up in front of the Hall to welcome him. Some remembered him as a child before he had been packed off to boarding school at the tender age of seven, to some of the others he was just a name. A photograph in the drawing room that they had to dust occasionally.

Rumour was that he and the old Master had had a falling out. The young Master had had a good war, but instead of returning home when the Armistice was signed and learning how to run the estate, he had taken off to London to party with the Bright Young Things; men and women who had been too young to serve during the conflict and those who had and only wished to forget.

The sad death of the old Lord Lestrade had meant that the prodigal son would have to return to Derwent and not all of the staff were looking forward to that happening.

The infernal machine came into sight. The rider was wearing goggles and a thick leather trench coat and he screeched to a halt, scattering gravel everywhere, in front of the Hall.

The butler, Mr Davis, stepped forward as the rider pulled off his headgear and climbed off the bike and bowed.

“Welcome home, my lord,” he said deferentially.

“Mr Davis.” replied the young lord, inclining his head. “I see you brought everyone.”

“They are here to welcome you, my lord.” protested Mr Davis.

“No fattened calf?” asked Lord Gregory with a smile. “I’m joking.”

“No luggage, my lord?” asked Davis delicately.

“It’s coming by carrier cart. Should be here by tomorrow. Which one of these penguins was my father’s valet?”

Mycroft Holmes schooled his expression and moved out of the line, standing stiffly beside Mr Davis.

“I was, my lord.”

Lord Gregory looked him up and down.

“You’ll do. Been a valet long?” 

“Many years, my lord. Your father had no complaint of me.”

“Hah! That’s probably the worst recommendation you could give yourself. What’s your name?”

“Holmes, my lord.” replied Mycroft.

“Very well. Davis, I’d like tea. I’ll take it in the library and could you please have Mrs Hudson attend me at her earliest convenience?”

“Of course, my lord.” using his eyebrows as semaphore, Mr Davis conferred the urgency of the request to the housekeeper as Lord Gregory ran up the steps and into the Hall.

Simon, one of the footmen, grinned at Mycroft. 

“Looks like you’ll have your hands full with that one,” he said. 

“Alas, yes. He is certainly nothing like his father.”

“Still, it might be fun to have some new blood in the house. Parties, the smart set from London and all that.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Simon.” said Mycroft with a swift smile.

*

The next few days were busy ones for Mycroft, once Lord Gregory’s luggage arrived he busied himself with mending and freshening, polishing and buffing until every item of clothing and footwear would have met the old lord’s exacting standards.

To Mycroft’s horror, the young lord refused to dress for dinner at night, preferring to wear a soft suit and a collarless shirt.

“Whatever is the point?” he asked, infuriated when Mycroft suggested black tie to him on his first night at the Hall. “If I have company, I will dress accordingly. Until then, I will dress as I damn well please.”

“Very well, my lord.” Mycroft replied with a sharp bow that made him wince.

“What’s the matter?” asked Lord Gregory.

“Nothing, my lord. I have an old wound which aches occasionally if I move too quickly.”

“Which regiment?” asked Lord Gregory.

“The Cheshires, my lord. I got this at Ypres and consider myself a lucky man.”

Lord Gregory looked at Mycroft with fresh respect as Mycroft left the room.

*

In the servant’s hall that night, Mrs Hudson announced that Lord Gregory would be having  a house party that weekend. Mr Davis scowled.

“I wish he would show some respect. The old master is barely cold in his grave and he’s throwing parties!” A vein began to pulse in his forehead. “Society is going to the dogs. No one shows proper decency any more. Is this what we won a war for? So women can have the vote and show off their ankles in public? So mourning periods are never observed?” he went on like that for ages and Mycroft was relieved to answer the bell when it rang.

“Yes, my lord?” enquired Mycroft as he walked into Lord Gregory’s bedroom. “Oh, please forgive me. I had no idea…”

Lord Gregory was standing there in his drawers and grinning.

“Don’t be so bashful, Holmes. A man shouldn’t have any secrets from his valet. Isn’t that right?”

Mycroft couldn’t stop the blush from rising in his face as he replied.

“That was what I was always led to believe, my lord.”

“Jolly good. Will you help me with some of this stuff. I’m not entirely sure it all fits any more and I need to be perfect for this weekend.”

“The party. Of course. Exactly what do you envisage happening, my lord?”

“Lots of drinking and hopefully lots of sex, Holmes.”

“So you shan’t be requiring your tweeds then, my lord?”

Lord Gregory roared with laughter.

“Not unless she’s jolly kinky, eh?” and he nudged Mycroft.

“Might I suggest black tie, white tie and country casual? I am aware my lord that you scorn such affectation in your own home. However the others who will attend this party almost certainly do not and they will make reports of their own.”

Lord Gregory huffed then nodded.

“You’re absolutely right, Holmes.Very astute of you. Let’s start with the dinner jacket, shall we?”

Some time later. Mycroft had sorted out what needed altering and Lord Gregory had, thankfully for Mycroft, covered his enticing body with pyjamas and a robe and bid him goodnight. After giving the clothes to the seamstress, Mycroft was free to go to his own bed in the servant’s quarters.

His room was sparse, linoleum on the floor and an iron bedstead and mattress with a po underneath. The family photograph of himself with his parents and Sherlock was the only decoration in the room. Mycroft took off his clothes and pulled on a thoroughly sensible nightshirt before climbing into bed and snuffing the candle.

Normally he had no trouble sleeping. The hours were long and the old lord had been an exacting taskmaster but he couldn’t help recalling the perfect physique of the young lord that had been revealed to him that day.

Mycroft was no innocent. There had been stolen moments in the trenches with others of his kind, encounters on his occasional brief trips into town but he had resigned himself to a life of celibacy. The law was particularly harsh on men like him and Mycroft found it easier to attend to matters himself.

“And he isn’t for the likes of you anyway, Mycroft Holmes,” he uttered to himself as he pummelled his pillow into a suitable shape for sleeping on.

*

The house was on tenterhooks as they awaited the first lot of Lord Gregory’s guests.Mycroft was heading to his lordship's room to ensure there were enough towels when he heard it.

From the drawing room came the exquisite sound of the piano, it’s mellow tones sounding fresh as they were put through their paces.

Out of curiosity, Mycroft peeked into the room. Lord Gregory was sat at the instrument, his fingers caressing the ivory keys as he would a lover’s body, evoking such sounds as had never been heard in that room for years, his eyes closed and his face alight with emotion. Mycroft recognised Tchaikovsky but had never heard it played with such passion before. He indulged himself by listening for a few more minutes then closed the door so Lord Gregory would not be disturbed.

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the house party Mycroft gets an unpleasant surprise.

The party guests arrived in dribs and drabs, equal numbers of men and women, all without exception young.

 

Some were accompanied by their own valets and ladies maids who were accommodated in the hastily-prepared rooms in the servants quarters while Mr Davis offered the services of Mycroft to the unaccompanied males as if he were a beast at the auction mart. Fortunately, his talents were not required, he heard amused talk about ‘chaps who can't even put on their own underwear without help.’ Talk that made his fair skin flush and put murder in his heart.

 

Being a ‘gentleman's gentleman’ and assuring that his master never had to worry about being ill-turned out was a great source of pride to Mycroft, not something for others to scorn.

 

In the servant’s hall after their dinner, Mr Davis accosted him just as he was about to light a cigarette.

 

“Holmes, we are short of a footman.”

 

“Yes, Mr Davis. However we have managed until now.”

 

The butler sighed and glared at Mycroft as if to rebuke him for insolence.

 

“The old Lord never entertained on this scale. Go and find a livery. They’ll need you in the dining room very shortly.”

 

There was no point in protesting. Mycroft had done almost every inside job at Derwent Hall since his youth and had been a passable footman. He went to the livery cupboard and returned to his bedroom, laying the livery on his bed for later.

  
  


In Lord Gregory’s rooms, Mycroft helped him into his dinner jacket and brushed off the shoulders with a clothes brush, making sure the jacket sat on his young lord without a wrinkle, then wrestled with the bow tie until it sat perfectly in contrast to the crisp white shirt front. 

 

“Thank you, Holmes. You’ve done wonders with this old stuff. Remind me again about that when you’re looking for a pay rise.” Mycroft flushed slightly at the compliment then realised he would have to hurry if he were to be on time.

 

“If you will excuse me, my lord, I must go and change.”

 

“Change?” asked Lord Gregory.

 

“We are short of a footman for tonight, my lord. Needs must.”

 

Lord Gregory smiled at him but Mycroft could sense no mockery there.

 

“Off you go then, Holmes. I will see you at dinner.”

  
  


Prior to the dinner gong sounding, Lord Gregory and his guests gathered in the drawing room for cocktails. Mycroft passed unobtrusively among the guests, observing them as he offered them their drinks from a silver tray as they chatted about the upcoming Season and who would be named Debutante of The Year, how difficult it was to find reliable servants in London these days and other chatter about plays and art exhibitions and music recitals that were as alien to Mycroft as the dark side of the moon.

 

He saw that Lord Gregory was present but not really involved, more content to take an observational role. What, Mycroft thought, could his young lord have in common with any of these empty-headed beauties and braying young men? All Mycroft could do was make sure Lord Gregory’s whisky glass was frequently replenished to help him get through it.

 

Lord Gregory had looked startled when he saw Mycroft dressed as he was but Mycroft knew he looked immaculate and had the height and slenderness to carry off the livery particularly well. He ignored glances from one or two of the other guests. Male or female didn't matter, either could mean the ruin of a servant and Mycroft was not inclined to acknowledge them.

 

One of the young men approached Lord Gregory and drew him into conversation.He was tall with dark hair, broad shoulders and intense blue eyes. They stood close together, the other man’s face alight with enthusiasm while Lord Gregory looked amused and entertained in equal measure.

 

Mr Davis rang the dinner gong and Lord Gregory offered his arm to a slender, fair-haired young woman in order to escort her to the dining room.

 

The young man that Lord Gregory had been talking to followed them almost immediately after, indicating he was a man of some rank, however his companion looked less than thrilled to be on his arm.

 

Mycroft hurried downstairs to where the first course was waiting to be taken up and served. In tandem with Simon, all the guests were soon indulging in Cook’s incredible creations and imbibing freely of the contents of Derwent Hall’s wine cellars.

 

Most of the conversation at dinner was light and frothy, similar to that of the drawing room earlier but once the last of the pudding had been consumed, the dessert wine drunk and the ladies had excused themselves, the talk turned to politics as the port circulated.

 

“Bloody socialists. They’ll be the ruin of this country,” opined Lord Gregory’s companion.

 

“Now, Seb.” said Lord Gregory with surprising gentleness. “It’s not a democracy if other voices aren’t allowed to be heard.”

 

“D’you actually support them?” spluttered Seb. “They’d have all your money and turn this place into a commune!”

 

“I think you’ve got them confused with the communists,” replied Lord Gregory with a smile.

 

“Possibly. Never could tell the difference.”

 

The two men shared a smile that spoke volumes as another member of their circle chimed in with his own upper-class verdict on the working class.

 

As Mycroft refilled the port decanter he opined to himself that socialism sounded quite attractive if it would knock the people round this table right now down a peg or two. Simon approached him and whispered in his ear.

 

“Lady Irene has asked if we can roll up the carpet in the entrance hall. Mr Davis has gone for the gramophone.”

 

“I’ll be with you in a second, “ replied Mycroft. He cast a professional eye over the table and, seeing that he wouldn’t be needed for a while, discreetly left to help Simon.

 

The servants were slumped in the hall sipping tea but even there they couldn’t escape the sound of the gramophone and the drunken antics of the guests.

 

“What kind of music do they call that?” asked Mr Davis, looking up from the newspaper.

 

“Jazz,” replied one of the guests valets. “Lord Wilkes brought a selection for Lord Lestrade. My lord is very partial to American music.”

 

Mr Davis harrumphed and returned to his paper.

 

Mycroft smoked a cigarette and read a little more of his current book. The prose was a little dry but the subject matter was fascinating and he dared not try and sneak it back to the library and acquire another while the house party was still in progress.

 

Around him the others chatted. When guests visited with their staff it was always a chance to meet new people and discuss the peccadilloes of their employers, secure in the knowledge that what was said below stairs, stayed below stairs.

 

Mycroft was somewhat surprised when the Blue Room bell rang. He hadn't expected Lord Gregory to retire before sunrise as the party was still apparently in full swing. He hurried up the stairs and found Lord Gregory waiting for him. He looked exhausted but managed a smile when Mycroft started fussing over him.

 

“Had a bit too much to drink,” Lord Gregory confessed as Mycroft's fingers deftly unbuttoned his silk shirt and replaced it with flannel.

 

“We've all done that, my lord. I shall place a bowl beside your bed should you feel the urge to be sick and I shall advise Mrs Carruthers to prepare a little something for your headache when you decide to rise.”

 

“You're a gem, Holmes.” Lord Gregory sighed and slumped against his pillows. Within seconds his breathing became deep and regular. Mycroft moved silently about the bedroom, hanging up the discarded garments and closing the curtains, placing the promised receptacle beside Lord Gregory’s bed before heading to his own.

 

He felt as though his head had just hit the pillow when he felt someone shaking him. 

 

“Wtsfg?” was the most coherent sound he could make at Simon.

 

“You need to get up. Mr Davis says he needs everyone to help clean up.”

 

Mycroft sat up and swung his legs out of bed before stretching and yawning. The sun had barely risen judging by the colour of the sky.

 

“Clean up what?” Mycroft asked as he poured some water into his washing bowl.

 

“You'll see,” replied Simon cryptically. “Don't be long. I'll see you downstairs.”

 

When Mycroft got to the entrance hall he mistakenly thought he'd stepped into a scene from a Roman orgy. There was detritus everywhere and the entire staff were tidying up under the butler's direction.

 

“Get the carpet back down!” Mr Davis hissed. “And someone has pissed in the Ming! See to it. Mr Holmes.”

 

Mycroft did as he was bidden and soon there was no evidence of the revels of the night before.

 

Mycroft checked his watch after he returned the Ming vase to its rightful place and winced. Lord Gregory would most likely be getting up shortly and it wouldn't do to attend him in shirtsleeves.

 

Theorising that the quickest way to his room would be along the east wing corridor, Mycroft walked swiftly up the main staircase and silently past the bedroom doors.

 

He watched in horror as Lord Gregory's door opened. Mycroft slid into the shadows. Stealth and near-invisibility were part of his stock in trade and he was quickly glad to have hidden.

 

Lord Sebastian Wilkes closed Lord Gregory's bedroom door behind him and sauntered back to his own room, a smug, satisfied expression on his vapid face. No one could mistake that look, the just-fucked look and Mycroft felt his insides churn with misery. 

 

Once the other bedroom door had shut, Mycroft hurried on. He had a job to do and he would do it well, whatever the cost

 

TBC


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does a valet do on his day off?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Black_Dawn for all the great suggestions. I adore you ❤

Mycroft wasn't the only one to breathe a sigh of relief when the last of the guests left to return to London. He was particularly relieved to see Lord Wilkes’ broad back going out of the front door.

 

Mycroft had no proof that he had returned to Lord Gregory’s bed but the thought of his oafish hands on Lord Gregory's body made Mycroft feel ill.

 

Lord Gregory had informed Mrs Hudson that he would be dining out that night which pleased Mrs Carruthers no end as once the staff dinners were done she could gossip over sherry with Mrs Hudson in the housekeeper’s sitting room. 

 

Mycroft made swift work of tying his lord’s bow tie and helped him on with his jacket and smoothing down the lapels.

 

“No need to wait up tonight, Holmes.” Lord Gregory said. “Unless the Lord Lieutenant has changed a great deal I imagine I will be very late in returning. Would you be so kind as to ask Anderson to bring the car round?”

 

“Certainly, my lord. Have a pleasant evening.”

 

Mycroft left the dressing room and hastened down to the servants hall.

 

“Philip. Lord Gregory is ready to leave.” Mycroft told the chauffeur who put down his newspaper and stubbed out his cigarette.

 

“Right you are,” he said affably.

 

*

 

Lord Gregory shifted against the luxurious upholstery of the Rolls Royce. He really didn't want to attend this dinner. All he wanted was to curl up in front of the library fire with a good book and a tumbler of decent whisky instead of attending what would inevitably turn out to be a diabolically-cooked dinner followed by more booze than any sane man should be asked to handle. That said, only an idiot refused an invitation from the Lord Lieutenant. It was simply Not Done. Lord Gregory could almost hear his mother’s horrified shrieks if he confided he had done such a thing.

 

Mentally he steeled himself for the coming ordeal. The party hadn’t been everything he thought it would be. Before the war, Lord Gregory had been a proper upper-class horror, drinking and seducing his way through London’s finest but the horrors he had seen in the service of his country had given him a deep distaste for his former profligate lifestyle, all he wanted was peace. He hadn’t mourned his father in any way, what had transpired at Cambridge when he was an undergrad had curdled any filial respect and turned it to bitter hatred. Seb had eased some of that pain but, sweet as it had been to renew their acquaintance, Lord Gregory knew it could only be temporary. Seb was as dim as a penny candle and once Lady Irene became Lady Wilkes, Seb would be otherwise occupied anyway.

 

Philip pulled up outside the Lord Lieutenant's residence and hopped out to open the door for his employer. Squaring his shoulders, Lord Gregory walked to the front door where a handsome parlour maid was waiting to take his hat and coat.

 

*

 

When he woke the next morning, Lord Gregory almost whimpered with the pain in his pounding head. As he suspected, last night had been horrendous. Worst to bear was the sycophancy from men and women he had known all his life, people who had always treated him with mild contempt treating him differently now he had a title. There had been judgement in the men’s eyes and speculation and not a little desire in the women’s. He had survived by matching the host drink for drink and having only the vaguest memory of his incredibly patient valet pouring him into his own bed.

 

When he felt able to stand without falling over, Lord Gregory rang for Holmes and was not pleased when Mr Davis answered the summons.

 

“Where’s Holmes?” Lord Gregory demanded as the butler selected suitable clothing for a day at home.

 

“It’s his day off, my lord,” replied Mr Davis.

 

Lord Gregory smiled briefly when he remembered he had once thought that half a day a week and one Sunday a month off was adequate rest for a servant. His attitude had changed somewhat when he had been forced to mostly look after himself in the trenches. That didn’t explain why he felt disgruntled that Holmes wasn’t there to attend to him.

 

“Of course. Will you arrange for a pitcher of barley water and some fruit juice to be sent to the dining room, Mr Davis? And see if you can find me one of those headache powders my mother swears by. I’m a little out of sorts this morning.”

 

A discreet cough reminded Lord Gregory that it was, in fact, afternoon.

 

“Of course, my lord.” said Mr Davis and left him with a discreet bow.

 

Hoping that his head wouldn’t fall off, Lord Gregory left his bedroom and went downstairs, each step thudding in his brain.

 

*

 

By evening time, Lord Gregory had revived somewhat. He had managed to eat and, more importantly, keep down a dinnerful of Mrs Carruthers excellent cooking and he allowed himself a small glass of port to ease his digestion. At a bit of a loose end, Lord Gregory went into the library where the lamps were already lit and a cheerful fire was burning. He doused all the lamps but the one directly behind his chair and picked   _ Journey To The Centre Of The Earth  _ from the shelf, settling down to read.

 

He must have nodded off but the sound of the library door being furtively opened woke him. He watched as a tall man in his Sunday best tweed trousers and jacket crept in, a book tucked under his arm.

 

“No need to be secretive, Holmes.” said Lord Gregory.

 

Mycroft nearly dropped the book he was trying to discreetly return in fright.

 

“Forgive me, my lord. I…”

 

“There’s nothing to forgive. You enjoy reading?”

 

Mycroft nodded furiously. “Very much, my lord. Your late father wasn’t one to indulge and I always thought it a shame that all these incredible books were here with no one to appreciate them when I could give them the respect they deserved.”

 

Lord Gregory smiled at Mycroft’s passionate defence of his actions. He looked different when not dressed for work. Less angular, more relaxed with no collar on his shirt and no hair tonic to flatten his naturally wavy auburn hair. 

 

“My father was a philistine.” said Lord Gregory flatly.”He had no appreciation of the fine arts and only kept this library because all the great houses have one. Please feel free to borrow whatever you like, whenever you like. I would like to see this room being used by more than me. For now, let’s keep this between ourselves though, eh?”

 

“Thank you very much, my lord.” said Mycroft, his eyes aglow with the possibilities now open to him.

 

“Did you enjoy your day off?” Lord Gregory enquired.

 

“Yes, my lord.” Mycroft replied, a little startled. “I went to see my brother at Eden Castle.”

 

“Is he in service as well?” asked Lord Gregory, interested in spite of himself.

 

Mycroft smiled, a gentle smile that softened his features and made his eyes grow darker.

 

“In a way. Sherlock is the music and dance master to Lord Eden’s children. When our days off synchronise, we always spend them together. Sherlock is planning to marry in the summer to the vicar’s daughter. I’m very happy for him.”

 

“Domestic bliss. It’s what we’re all supposed to aspire to, “ mused Lord Gregory. “Including me. I’ll be off to London in a couple of months for the start of the Season, Holmes.  The London house is no doubt already being aired out in preparation for my mother’s arrival. I could use an ally down there, if you’re willing?”

 

“Of course, my lord. I would be happy to accompany you.”

 

“Very good. I will see you in the morning. Goodnight, Holmes.”

 

“Goodnight, my lord.”

 

Mycroft replaced his borrowed book and left the room without a backward glance.

 

Lord Gregory returned the Verne to the shelf and put out the light, heading for his own bed.

 

The Season. With his mother continually berating him to find himself a wife, even though she was aware of his true nature. The whole concept filled him with despair, yet there was a tiny crumb of comfort. Holmes would be there with him. Holmes would not let him fail.

 

TBC

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Gregory and Mycroft prepare for the London Season.

Lord Gregory nodded absent-minded thanks to Simon as the latter placed the morning’s post on the dining room table.

 

There was a truly astronomical bill from his tailor which Lord Gregory had accrued after enduring the sorrowful looks and heartfelt sighs of Holmes for far longer than he needed to.

 

The man had been right, drat him. He wasn't reliant on the largesse of his father any more. There was nothing to stop him dressing like the peer of the realm that he was. It had been worth the endless measuring and fitting, Lord Gregory reflected, to see the look of pleasure in Holmes’s eyes when he took delivery of the new clothes, his long fingers stroking the broadcloth and silk, the tweed and velvet.

 

Lord Gregory recognised his mother's eccentric scrawl on the second envelope which he left until he had finished breakfast. No point in spoiling his digestion after all.

 

He put down his fork and slit open the envelope with his butter knife, extracting the single sheet of thick creamy paper and, steeling himself, unfolded it.

 

_ Dear Gregory _

 

_ I will be arriving at Cadogan Place Friday next. I have engaged staff for the entirety of the Season but insist you bring Mrs Hudson. I'm sure the Hall will manage with only themselves to worry about. I assume you will be bringing your valet if you haven't frightened the poor man off. If not, I can engage one of those as well.  _

 

_ I had a letter from Euphemia Wilkes telling me that you’d had a house party. I can only imagine how the servants reacted to that.  _

 

_ It's time you grew up, my son, and faced your responsibilities. We will be attending Lord Gresham’s daughter's coming-out ball next Friday which, I am reliably informed, will see the attendance of all of this year's desirable debutantes. It would do your mother's heart good if you showed even a smidgen of interest in one or two of them. _

 

_ Until next Friday _

 

_ Frances Lestrade. _

 

Lord Gregory sighed and put the letter down on the table. There really was no escape. His mother was relentless. Had he been a girl, his mother's machinations would have seen him married off before the end of his first Season. As it was, she would be trying her best to find the carrier of the next Lestrade heir.

 

Greg wondered if she would have a coronary if he told her the type of person he  _ really _ wanted to share his life, and his bed, with. No, after all she  _ had  _ been married to his father and it had taken a woman with grit and nerves of steel to put up with that.

 

He'd play along to keep her happy and free of suspicion. Some of the girls he knew would be happy to help in his deception, the ones unhappy with the role Society had chosen for them.

 

He would dance, and flirt, and if there was any luck in the world, his mother would be satisfied.

 

Lord Gregory reached for the bell pull and the summons was quickly answered by Simon.

 

“Have Mrs Hudson come up here, will you? And tell Holmes I'd like to see him in my dressing room in half an hour.”

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

*

 

“Well, Holmes. I cannot fault your prescience. My dear mother intends for me to fully participate in this year's Season. One can hardly search for a wife in  two year old formal attire after all. Best make sure you pack everything but leave out the kitchen sink. Since Mrs Hudson is coming as well I don't doubt she'll bring it with her.”

 

Lord Gregory was slumped on the couch of his dressing room as he said this, looking more like a man about to go into battle than a man about to take part in a great glittering social whirl.

 

Mycroft smothered a smile as he said “I take it you'd rather stay here, my lord.”

 

“Without question, Holmes. Spend my days walking the Downs with my binoculars for a bit of birdwatching or take the train to the seaside to watch the waves break endlessly and my nights in the library with a good book. However my mother would have my balls if I suggested it.”

 

“Mothers do tend to act like that, I fear.” said Mycroft in commiseration.

 

“Yours as well?” 

 

“My mother departed this life some time ago, my lord, but it did not preclude her from meddling and matchmaking even though any girl would have found me a poor bargain. If I may, just do enough to keep her ladyship happy and you can come back to Derwent Hall to do whatever you please.”

 

“You're a very wise man, Holmes. That's  _ exactly _ what I plan to do. With any luck, she won't decide to come with me and she'll go home instead. Anyway, she will be arriving next Friday, so I plan to get there a couple of days beforehand so Mrs Hudson can vet the new staff and I can have one last hedonistic fling before I have to play the dutiful son.”

 

He looked at Mycroft then said.

 

“You'd better take this Sunday off, Holmes. Go and see your brother because it may be awhile before you see him again.”

 

Lord Gregory didn't miss the look of startled gratitude on Mycroft's face before it was hidden behind his usual inscrutable mask and felt warmed by the fact that he had made him happy.

  
  


“Thank you very much, my lord. I'll do that. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to get into the attic and bring down your travelling cases.”

 

*

 

Sunday was a bright, clear day, unusual for the early spring. Lord Gregory decided it was past time he went for a ride. He had felt bored and restless all day and decided that a good gallop would blow away the cobwebs. Trooper, his favourite grey, whinnied a welcome as he walked into the stables. The stable lad had the horse tacked and bridled in short order and Lord Gregory galloped out of the stable yard, giving the horse its head, racing across the gentle land adrift in his own thoughts until he realised he wasn't quite sure where he was and slowed Trooper down to a walk. He wasn't worried. He knew he'd find his way back eventually.

 

*

 

“You're so lucky, Mycroft.” said Sherlock with a perfectly familiar pout. “Wish I could go to London for the Season.”

 

“You'd be welcome to it,” sighed Mycroft as they sipped tea in the servants hall of Eden Castle. “Far too noisy and dirty for my liking. However, Lord Gregory insists. There are some small compensations though, little brother. I can send you some of the sweets you adore from Jermyn Street.”

 

“And some decent scoring paper,” begged Sherlock, his eyes bright with the thought. “Please, Mycroft? If I have to rule any more blank paper I will go insane!” he concluded dramatically.

 

Mycroft laughed softly and nodded.

 

“I will see what I can do.” He looked at his pocket watch and sighed. “And now I must say farewell, Sherlock. It will take some time to walk back.”

 

The brothers stood up and shook hands.

 

“It was good of you to come,” said Sherlock warmly. “I'll miss you.”

 

“Give my regards to Molly. And I will send you the paper you desire as soon as my duties allow.”

 

Mycroft didn't begrudge the six mile walk back to Derwent Hall, he usually enjoyed it as it gave him time to think free of responsibilities. He walked slowly, taking time to admire the beauty of the countryside finally waking up after winter.

 

It was a particularly warm day for so early in the year and soon Mycroft was forced to shed his jacket and hat as he was sweating.

 

The sound of hoofbeats alerted him to the fact that he was not alone.

 

*

 

Lord Gregory spotted the solitary figure and guided Trooper towards him. He would ask, in a roundabout way, if he were on the right path.

 

Cursing his inattentiveness he drew closer and, as he did, recognised the figure standing deferentially to one side of the bridle path.

 

“Holmes! What a coincidence.”

 

Mycroft squinted up at his employer and smiled.

 

“Good afternoon, my lord. I'd touch my cap but I appear to have mislaid it along with my jacket.”

 

That the aforementioned jacket was slung carelessly under one arm didn't register with Lord Gregory for he was rendered speechless by the sight of Mycroft in just a shirt and trousers, shirt unbuttoned enough to show off a thicket of hair identical in colour to the soft curls on his head, and clinging to him with perspiration.

 

Lord Gregory realised a number of things before the silence became awkward. His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding because he had suddenly realised how incredibly handsome his valet actually was when not restricted by how he had to present himself in his job. 

 

Lord Gregory’s father had cut swathes through the female servants but he was damned if he would do the same.

 

Even if said servant was smiling at him shyly and offering to walk back to the Hall with him. Even if Holmes were that way inclined.

 

Damned if he would.

 

TBC


	5. Chapter Five

Mycroft sighed. He had been right about London. Smelly, smoky with far too many people and that was before they had even left the train station.

 

Lord Gregory led the way, handsome in his top hat and tailcoat while Mycroft and Mrs Hudson followed behind trailing him like the tail of a comet.

 

A car was waiting for them outside and Lord Gregory tipped the porters lavishly as they wrestled his luggage into the boot and tied the remainder to the roof rack.

 

Both Mycroft and Mrs Hudson had room to sit upfront while Lord Gregory lounged in the back, looking out of the window to see what had changed since his last visit.

 

It didn't take them long to reach Cadogan Place, where an anxious-looking young footman was waiting for them.

 

“Good afternoon, my lord.” said the young footman. “My name is Andrew and I will be here for the duration of your stay.”

 

Lord Gregory inclined his head in acknowledgement but did not speak.

 

Mrs Hudson slipped off downstairs while Mycroft, with the help of the footman, unshipped the luggage and carried it into the entrance hall.

 

Andrew took Lord Gregory's hat, coat and gloves but Lord Gregory made no attempt to go anywhere, he just stood and stared around him.

 

“Take what you can manage up to the master bedroom,” Mycroft instructed Andrew in an undertone. “Quickly now.”

 

As Andrew scuttled off with one of the smaller trunks, Mycroft approached Lord Gregory who still hadn't moved or spoken.

 

“Are you all right, my lord?” Mycroft asked delicately. He touched Lord Gregory's arm and found the bicep tight and thrumming with tension. Worse still was the look of utter anguish on his face.

 

“I hoped I would never have to come back here, Holmes. So many hideous memories. I thought they might have faded with time but then I was ever the optimist.”

 

Mycroft was deeply concerned and, blushing slightly at the liberty, guided his lord out of the hallway and into the drawing room. The fire had been lit to chase away the spring chill and the air of disuse and Mycroft was relieved to see the decanters had been filled. 

 

Sitting Lord Gregory into a chair and pressing a large glass of brandy into his hands was the work of mere minutes. Lord Gregory took a deep gulp of the spirit which restored some of his colour but did nothing to dispel his thousand-yard stare as he was assailed by his memories.

 

It had happened in this very room, the very worst of it. His father, apoplectic with rage, threatening to disinherit him, implying that Michael's death would be all to easy to arrange, cursing him with words that Lord Gregory didn't even think he could possibly know. And yet Lord Gregory was adamant. He would not give up the man he loved.

 

Then the ultimate test. His father threatened Michael with exposure. He would, his father informed him, tell the police that this American (“Not even English, Gregory. A bloody colonist!”) was a devotee of unnatural practices and the vice of the Greeks. That he would be found guilty, just as Oscar Wilde had been, was in little doubt. His father had more than one magistrate in his back pocket after all.

 

That was when Gregory had caved. The thought of Michael in prison doing hard labour, the shame that Michael's family would feel and the way Michael's name would be blackened for eternity was too much to bear.

 

He was given no opportunity to explain why he changed colleges and he never saw Michael again.

 

His father had been triumphant and, in the months before war broke out, kept his son on a very short leash like an unpredictable pet which was not quite housetrained and could bite.

 

“I hope Hell is hot enough for you, you despicable old bastard.” said Lord Gregory aloud, much to Mycroft's shock.

 

“My lord, perhaps if you lay down…” ventured Mycroft but Lord Gregory merely gifted him with a smile.

 

“No need for that, Holmes. I am quite well, just lost myself for a moment there.”

 

He drained his brandy glass and held it out for a refill.

 

“If you are quite well, my lord, I shall go and see to your unpacking.” Mycroft murmured as he handed Lord Gregory the refilled glass. It took all of his training for him not to gasp out loud when Lord Gregory grasped his hand and held it for slightly longer than was proper.

 

“Thank you, Holmes. For your concern for me and for making sure I keep myself on an even keel. I do appreciate it.”

 

Mycroft had no reason to doubt his sincerity, which was in no way negated by the unfathomable look in his soft brown eyes. He desperately hoped that his own expression didn't show how much he wanted to take his lord into his arms and soothe away all the horror and hurt.

 

“My pleasure, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me.” 

 

Mycroft turned and fled the drawing room, his thoughts ajumble. A few hours of sorting out his lordship’s clothing should settle him down.

 

*

 

Lord Gregory stood on the threshold of the master bedroom as if reluctant to enter it.

 

“This is insane, “ he muttered to Mycroft. “How big a bedroom does one man need?”

 

“Your father was very fond of his creature comforts, “ said Mycroft smoothly. “However, this is now your bedroom as the new Lord Lestrade. If you wish to redecorate…”

 

“Throw a lighted match behind me on the way out, more like.” grumbled Lord Gregory. “Far too many naked women in here, Holmes. Can you at least get rid of those paintings? I know my father would fuck any female with a recent pulse but I am most definitely not him.”

 

They were interrupted by Andrew who bore a telegram on a silver tray.

 

“This just came for you, my lord.” he said, offering the tray.

 

Lord Gregory ripped open the envelope and scanned the contents. He smiled as he tucked the buff form into his pocket.

 

“Good news travels fast. Lord Wilkes knows I’m in town and has asked me to dine with him at his club.Black tie tonight, I think.”

 

“Naturally, my lord.” replied Mycroft, hoping he didn't sound too morose at the thought of Lord Gregory spending another night with that unspeakable man.

 

*

 

It turned out to be two nights but at least his lordship had sobered up enough to telephone and let Mrs Hudson know he wouldn't be back. 

 

Mycroft made the best of his unexpected freedom. He took an omnibus to Oxford Street and did some window shopping. Down a little side street he found a music shop which was filled with enough stringed instruments to make Sherlock green with envy and the proprietor was more than happy to sell him a ream of paper suitable for musical notation and for transposing.

 

Mycroft begged some writing paper and an envelope from Mrs Hudson and wrote Sherlock a long, informative and affectionate letter while sat at the kitchen table.

 

It was a warm, informal setting with the kettle singing on the fire and the gas mantles turned down. Rose the parlour maid was stepping out with her young man while Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner, the cook, gossiped at the other end of the table, their voices a familiar hum in the background. Andrew was dozing in one of the fireside chairs, a soft smile on his face and Mycroft felt wonderfully content.

 

He parcelled up the letter and the paper with butcher's twine and strong brown paper and set it aside to take to the post office the next day. Then he stood up and stretched.

 

“I'm for bed,” he announced.

 

“Goodnight, Mycroft. Himself will be back tomorrow so I'd get as much rest as I could.” said Mrs Hudson.

 

Wearily Mycroft climbed a dozen flights of stairs to his attic bedroom

The mattress was lumpy but he crawled under the covers with a sigh. London was too noisy. Even at this elevated level Mycroft could hear the traffic in the street below but that didn't prevent him from falling asleep in minutes.

 

*

 

The servants were lingering over their breakfast teas when there was a harsh jangling as the bell in the drawing room was rung.

 

They all looked at each other in consternation until Rose rushed into the kitchen, her eyes on Mycroft.

 

“His lordship wants you, Mr Holmes.”

 

Mycroft hurried to the drawing room where Lord Gregory was sat in three-day old clothes. He had a decidedly liverish appearance and winced as the sunlight, freed from clouds, streamed into the room.

 

“Good morning, my lord.” said Mycroft.”Do you require breakfast?”

 

“What I  _ require, _ Holmes,” said Lord Gregory through gritted teeth. “Is two headache powders and a week's sleep. Since my dear mother will be here tomorrow, I'd better settle for the powders and as much sleep as I can manage. I am not At Home to anyone.”

 

“Not even Lord Wilkes?”

 

The question was out of Mycroft's mouth before he realised. Luckily Lord Gregory seemed to take it at face value but Mycroft didn't like the thunderous expression that followed.

 

“That name is never to be mentioned in this house or in my presence again. Clear?”

 

“As crystal, my lord,” replied Mycroft, his heart soaring.

 

TBC


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the criminal delay in posting this. RL strikes again.

Mycroft was somewhat bemused the next morning when Lord Gregory rang for him early.

 

“Morning, Holmes. I need a bath.”

 

“Yes, my lord, you certainly do.”

 

Lord Gregory grinned at his valet, suddenly looking years younger.

 

“Don't want to meet Mater stinking. God knows she'll have enough to complain about.”

 

“Perhaps one of your new suits for today, my lord.” Mycroft suggested. “Will you let me choose?”

 

“Your taste is impeccable, Holmes. I'm entirely in your hands.”

 

Mycroft drew the bath and left Lord Gregory to it, going into the dressing room and selecting a brown winter weight suit with a red tie and matching pocket square. As he laid out fresh underwear and a plain white silk shirt, Mycroft heard singing.

 

He crept to the bathroom door and listened to Lord Gregory splashing around in time to the song.

 

_ “No one to walk with, but I'm happy on the shelf. Ain't misbehavin, saving all my love for yoohoo… _ Oh bugger! Blasted soap. Now then, where were we…”

 

Mycroft smiled at the contradiction that was his Lord Gregory. A jaded socialite who sang in the bath. A war veteran who could be moved to tears by a simple piece of music and a man bold enough to take his pleasures with his own sex literally terrified of his own mother.

 

Mycroft loved the contradictions. Had Lord Gregory been anything other than himself, Mycroft could not have borne it. He felt his heart grow warmer as he crept back to the dressing room.

 

*

 

Mycroft was sitting with Mrs Hudson at the kitchen table. He had just lit a cigarette while she poured the tea when Lord Gregory walked in, a sheepish expression on his face.

 

“Please,” he said, gesturing with his hands.”Don't get up.”

 

“Can we help you, my lord?” Mrs Hudson asked.

 

“May I join you? I'm climbing the walls up there waiting for my mother to arrive.”

 

“Of course. Sit down and I'll get you a cup.” She bustled away and Mycroft stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray.

 

“We were talking about a new exhibition at the Royal Academy, my lord.” Mycroft informed him. “Mrs Hudson expressed a desire to see it on her day off.”

 

“Fond of the Impressionists, is she?” Lord Gregory asked.

 

“I know I am,” admitted Mycroft. 

 

Lord Gregory smiled. His fascinating valet revealed more and more layers the longer and more often they talked. 

 

“There you are, my lord.” Mrs Hudson put a cup of tea in front of him.

 

“Thank you. Mycroft here was telling me about you wanting to see the exhibition.”

 

Mrs Hudson looked thunderstruck while Mycroft tried to hide his pleasure at the use of his first name and how  _ right _ it had sounded coming from Lord Gregory.

 

“Well, yes.” she replied.

 

“I'll make sure you get as soon as you can. You will need the majority of the day to fully appreciate it.”

 

“Thank you, my lord, but it will be all hands on deck for a while.”

 

“Nonsense. And if my mother has anything to say about you taking your allocated time off, refer her to me.”

 

Mrs Hudson shot Mycroft a look that was half amusement, half despair.

 

“I'll do that, my lord. I don't suppose you'll have a chance to see it yourself, will you? Lady Frances will keep you busy.”

 

“Unfortunately, yes. However. I might try and fit it in. Do either of you have a particular favourite?”

 

Mrs Hudson and Mycroft tried to outdo the other with their appreciation of Monet and Turner.

 

“Your taste is exquisite,” Lord Gregory conceded. 

 

“I got most of my appreciation from your father's library,” Mycroft admitted.

 

“Mycroft definitely prefers Van Gogh though.” chimed in Mrs Hudson.

 

“Such bold use of colour and his subjects are fascinating. Do you concur, Mycroft?”

 

“I couldn't have put it any better myself, my lord.” Mycroft replied with a smile that made Lord Gregory feel hot under the collar.

 

The sound of the front door bell brought the informal interlude to a swift conclusion with obvious regret on Lord Gregory's part.

 

“My mother is finally here,” he said, standing up.

 

“I'd better get up there as well,” muttered Mrs Hudson.

 

Mycroft stayed put, pouring himself another cup of tea from the pot. Lord Gregory would send for him when he was needed, but Mycroft could afford five minutes more to himself.

 

*

 

Lady Frances Lestrade strode into the entrance hall like a galleon in full sail. Lord Gregory kissed her awkwardly on the cheek and subjected himself to her intense scrutiny.

 

“Well, my boy. You look awful. Didn't I warn you about burning the candle at both ends and in the middle?”

 

Lord Gregory looked at his feet as he muttered “Yes, Mother.”

 

“Well, don't just stand there making the place look untidy. Ring for tea. I assume the drawing room is habitable?”

 

“Yes, of course it is. After you,” insisted Lord Gregory.

 

Lady Frances spared a glance for Mrs Hudson hovering in the background.

 

“Martha, we will catch up later. Will you show my girl where everything is?”

 

The girl in question was standing as unobtrusively as possible behind her employer dressed in a plain hat and coat, Lady Frances's jewel case chained to her wrist.

 

“Of course, my lady. Come with me, dear.” Mrs Hudson took the young woman by the arm and led her downstairs while Lord Gregory followed his mother into the drawing room where a cheerful fire crackled in the hearth. They sat on chairs on opposite sides of the fireplace while Andrew laid out the tea service and some delicate sandwiches and cakes before leaving as unobtrusively as he had come.

 

Lady Frances looked around the room and shuddered.

 

“I assume you'll be getting this place decorated?”

 

“Yes. I want every trace of him out of this house. Derwent Hall too.”

 

“Good for you.” said Lady Frances approvingly. “I didn't think you'd be grieving much for the old bastard.”

 

“I'm not. I was drunk for a week after I got the news. Paris really does do exceptional champagne.”

 

“I heartily approve. Although one must try and show some semblance of mourning, it's not really done for one to socialise when one's husband is barely cold.”

 

“You never were the conventional wife and mother though. You couldn't care less what those turnips thought of you.”

 

Lady Frances laughed.

 

“Also true, but  _ is _ important what they think of you. If you want to carry on the Lestrade line, Gregory, you must marry and marry well. No,” she forestalled his objection with a wave of her hand. “I know what you are, my boy, but do you think you're the first invert to find yourself in this position? Once you've produced a couple of heirs, you can amuse yourself however you like, just as long as you're discreet and if you find an amiable spouse, so can she.”

 

Lord Gregory looked despairingly at his mother.

 

“I don't want to. You make it sound so utterly cold-blooded. What about love?”

 

“Now you're being ridiculous. Our class does not marry for love. We marry for other reasons. Affection for one's spouse is a delightful bonus but not the only reason. Now, the ball tonight. I sincerely hope you've visited your tailor since I last saw you?”

 

“Yes, Mother. Myc-Holmes insisted.”

 

Lady Frances's eyes narrowed at the slip and the way her son's expression had brightened at the mention of his valet.

 

“Gregory, remember that stupid Derlinger female? The one who ran off with her chauffeur?”

 

“Viola? Yes, I always rather liked her. Strong views on women's suffrage. I didn't know she'd eloped.”

 

“He ruined her. That's what happens when you take a lover out of your class.”

 

“Why are you telling me this now?”

 

“You always were a bright boy, work it out.”

 

Lord Gregory winced. The idea of Mycroft as his lover was incredibly appealing but also impossible. The man had not even shown the slightest flicker of interest,merely the professionalism of a devoted servant,so that was that. Anyway, he wasn't the only man in London and many others would be there for Lord Gregory's scrutiny tonight.

 

*

 

“What's your name, dear?” Mrs Hudson asked as she sat the young woman down at the table. “I'm Mrs Hudson the housekeeper and this is Mr Holmes, his lordship's valet.”

 

“Anthea. I'm Lady Frances's maid. And secretary. Everything, really.”

 

“Lovely to meet you, Anthea.” Mycroft said, shaking her hand. “And do call me Mycroft when we're below stairs. It's good to see a new face.”

 

“I'm just glad to be back in London,” Anthea confessed. “The south of France is lovely but there's nowhere like here, especially in the Season. I think Lady Frances will be here till her son finds himself a wife. She's very determined.”

 

Fortunately, Mrs Hudson was the only one who saw the light in Mycroft's eyes extinguished and could have wept for him.

 

The next few weeks would be unremitting hell

 

TBC

  
  



	7. Chapter Seven

Mycroft helped himself to a little more of Mrs Turner's cottage pie and offered the dish to Anthea.

 

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. As she reached for it, the collar of her blouse shifted and Mycroft caught sight of an exquisite strand of pearls around her neck. Catching his surprised look, she hooked her finger under them and pulled them out.

 

“Lady Frances's for tonight. She prefers me to wear them first to warm them up. Apparently it adds to their lustre.”

 

“I see. I didn't know that.” Mycroft admitted.

 

“Lucky you don't have to do the same for Lord Gregory, eh?” she teased and he smiled in reply.

 

An intrusive thought burrowed into his mind.

 

_ Gregory would look  _ magnificent  _ strapped down on the bed with ropes of pearls. He would look even more magnificent covered in other pearl-like substances too. _

 

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This wasn't the first erotic thought he had had about Lord Gregory and it disturbed him. He had come to realise that continuing in Lord Gregory's service would be almost impossible. One misstep, one wrong word or misinterpreted glance would find him either the object of scorn and derision or jobless and without a reference.

 

Mycroft wasn't exactly sure what was worse. To that end, he had begun to peruse the Situations Vacant section in the newspaper. Better to make a clean break now than live walking on eggshells. He had sent a couple of enquiry letters and was awaiting their response. Even if a positive one might just end up breaking his heart.

 

The bell rang for the blue bedroom. Anthea swallowed the last of her tea, tucking the pearls back inside her blouse.

 

“Better hurry,” she muttered. “See you later, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft barely had time to finish his own tea before the bell in the dressing room rang and he hurried upstairs to help Lord Gregory prepare for the evening.

 

Lord Gregory frowned into the mirror as Mycroft smoothed the jacket of his evening suit over his shoulders.

 

“Busy night ahead, my lord?” Mycroft asked, brushing off an errant piece of lint.

 

“A crush at Lady Lambton's and then it's Lady Georgina's coming out ball.” Lord Gregory laughed. “Apparently her parents are willing to let her study at Cambridge as long as she does a whole Season first.She's quite a girl, Holmes. Fiercely intelligent, loves getting her hands dirty. Haven't seen her in years though I doubt she's changed much. Likes plants more than people. Used to have her own greenhouse on the family estate outside Dublin, much to her mother's utter horror.”

 

“Perhaps, my lord, the lady would not be averse to you showing her some attention.”

 

“Whatever do you mean, Holmes?”

 

“Merely that she obviously has no intention of marrying quite yet however if you and she were to form an alliance, that might take the pressure off both of you slightly. It would certainly keep your mother happy if you were to squire such a lady around for a while and as long as there is no hint of impropriety, you can return to Derwent Hall with your bachelor status intact and the lady can study to her heart's content.”

 

Lord Gregory spun round and grasped Mycroft's shoulders.

 

“Holmes, you're a bloody genius!” He gifted Mycroft with a dazzling smile which dipped slightly when he saw the surprised delight in his valet's eyes.

 

“Why does this matter so much to you?”

 

“All I want is for you to be happy,” said Mycroft, his gaze firm with no hint of servility, as if they were friends, not master and servant. 

“You crave marriage about as much as I, yet my reputation or society standing will not suffer if I remain unwed, nor will there be any spurious speculation about me if that remains the case. You are an entirely different matter. After what happened to Mr Wilde it is important that none of that should apply to you.”

 

Lord Gregory dropped his hands and turned from Mycroft.

 

“You know about me. Of course you do. Well, there you have it. I thought losing my father would free me from hell and yet I find myself trapped in another. There is little I can do, Mycroft.” He winced at the use of his valet's first name, a sure sign he was becoming overwrought. “I must do what Society and my mother expect.”

 

He stalked over to the dressing table and fiddled with the bottles on it before crashing down the hairbrush he had just picked up.

 

“Damn it all! Why can't I just be left alone? Four years I fought for our freedom, for peace and now I have neither. I want to go home. Is wanting the tranquility of Derwent Hall too much to ask for? “

 

“It will be yours again soon, my lord.” said Mycroft soothingly.

 

“Not soon enough, though. I must go along with this damned charade a while longer. Thank you, Holmes, both for your advice and for choosing to stay with me. Even if I am a damned queer fellow.”

 

Mycroft bowed slightly then turned and walked out but Lord Gregory had caught his expression before he did. Now  _ that  _ was something to think about tonight.

 

*

 

“Gregory!” Lady Georgina shoved her way through the dancing throng to stand in front of him. “You came! I'm so thrilled!”

 

Lord Gregory looked at the young woman in front of him. She hadn't exactly transformed into a swan but she was far from the girl he remembered. Her maid had done her best but nothing could hide her freckles or the curls in her rust-red hair but the twinkle in her eyes was kind and Lord Gregory found himself smiling for the first time that night.

 

“My lady,” he said with mock seriousness. “Thank you for the invitation. How are you, Georgie?”

 

“I'm well. I was sorry to hear about your father.”

 

“I wasn't. Everyone was very correct in their condolences but he won't be missed. Never mind that, how are the rest of your family?” Lord Gregory asked.

 

“They're fine. It's been so long since I saw you, we must catch up.” She took his arm and guided him to the refreshment table where they acquired two cups of punch and found an empty sofa where they could be comfortable. She shifted uncomfortably.

 

“Bloody corsets. I'm sure no woman had a hand in designing these.”

 

Then she blushed, throwing her freckles into sharp relief.

 

“Here I go again. Talking about underwear to a man. My mother gave me several lectures on Things We Do Not Talk About Or Do If We Wish To Gain A Husband. I think I've broken half a dozen of her strictures already.” Then she grinned at Lord Gregory. “Just as well I see you as another brother, isn't it?”

 

Lord Gregory laughed. 

 

“True, but I have a suggestion for you which may help you get through this.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“You're not already in love with some chap are you?”

 

Her indignant snort was probably on her mother's list as well, he thought.

 

“Don't be ridiculous. I'm not interested in all that nonsense. I refuse to be shackled to some man, churning out children every year like some brood mare. I want to study. I want to explore the world, not stay at home like my mother.”

 

“Just checking. How would you feel if I appeared to court you? I mean, there's a lot of fun to be had around Town with the parties and so on. If I were to be your escort to some of them then…”

 

“I'd be left in peace and so would you,” she concluded. She frowned. “I'd be delighted, Gregory, but I don't want to put anyone off you. According to Mother, you're one of the most eligible bachelors in London.”

 

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked. She nodded.

“I have no interest in getting married. To anyone. I'm not made that way, I'm afraid.”

 

Her eyes widened and he was gifted with an understanding smile.

 

“I see. You're like Patrick's friend, James. He prefers men as well. He's here tonight, I should introduce you. You might get on.” She looked a bit doubtful. “I've always found him a bit  _ intense. _ ”

 

Lord Gregory stood up and extended his hand to her.

 

“Lady Georgina, shall we seal our pact with a dance?”

 

“I'd be honoured, Lord Gregory.”

 

He led her to the dancefloor just as the orchestra struck up a waltz.

 

“I might stand on your toes,” she warned him.

 

“Just let me lead,” he said with a grin.

 

*

 

They stayed on the floor far longer than Lord Gregory would have imagined and they were the recipients of some approving looks when they went in search of refreshments.

 

“Oh, look. There's James there,” said Lady Georgina, dragging him over to where a man with dark hair and brown eyes was watching the proceedings with amused contempt.

 

“Lady Georgina,” said the man with a small bow in her direction. “Your party is a great success.” His warm Irish brogue was a voice made for wooing, thought Lord Gregory helplessly.

 

“James, this is Gregory.”

 

Lord Gregory found himself being thoroughly scrutinised. Then they shook hands.

 

‘''I bet that's not your entry in  _ Who's Who. _ “ said James.

 

“Yours neither,” said Lord Gregory with a smile.

 

“True. I'm James, the Earl of Moriarty.”

 

“Lord Gregory Lestrade.”

 

“A pleasure to meet you,  _ Gregory. _ No doubt we shall meet again. Lady Georgina, I believe you owe me a dance.”

 

With an apologetic smile, Lady Georgina allowed herself to be whisked off, leaving Lord Gregory to ponder what had just happened. He  _ would _ see James again, he was sure of it.

 

*

 

Mycroft yawned then apologised profusely to Anthea and Mrs Hudson.

 

“I think I'll go to bed.” Mycroft announced. “I doubt his lordship will be back before dawn.”

 

“Probably not,” agreed Anthea. “I'd better make sure I have a full supply of headache powders for my lady. She'll need them tomorrow.”

 

As Mycroft stood up, Anthea grasped his arm.

 

“Are you all right, Mycroft? You've been lost in thought all night.”

 

“I'm fine,” he reassured her.

 

In his bedroom he wept. For himself, for his beloved Gregory and for the choices they had to make.

 

Choices that would make sure no one had a happy ending.

 

TBC


	8. Chapter Eight

Lady Frances smiled approvingly as her son swept past her on the dancefloor, Lady Georgina in his arms and smiling up at him like he was the whole world.

 

“They make a very handsome pair,” remarked the Dowager Duchess of Pickering, with whom Lady Frances had been chatting.”Might we expect a happy announcement before the end of the Season? They're an excellent match, even if that gel does think too much. Give her a household to run and a couple of children to worry about and she'll soon forget all that Cambridge nonsense. Spoiled, that's her trouble. Only daughter. Got her parents wrapped round her little finger. Wouldn't happen if she were mine. I'm sure your Gregory is just the man to keep her under control.”

 

Lady Frances made some polite and non-committal remarks while fighting down the urge to slap the silly old trout. In a lot of ways she envied Lady Georgina who had a big enough heart to follow her passions and thought she might be a sympathetic wife for her son but she certainly wasn't going to force the issue.

 

“There was a rumor that the King might attend tonight,” she murmured. The distraction worked as she knew it would, and she went in search of some more convivial company.

 

“My feet are killing me!” Lady Georgina exclaimed. “D'you think that's enough for tonight?”

 

Lord Gregory smiled and sat beside her.

 

“The Dowager is probably asking my mother if we'll have a summer or winter wedding. Are you still having a good time, Georgie?”

 

“Oh yes. I know it's a bit shallow with having to buy so many new dresses and make sure one talks to all the right people, but it's a laugh especially with you to help me.”

 

“Good. Are we still going to the opera tomorrow?” Lord Gregory asked.

 

“Oh, yes. I do love Puccini. And opening nights are supposed to be tremendous fun.”

 

Lord Gregory winced at the thought of spending yet another night in the company of his so-called peers, guzzling champagne and trying to outdo each other in volume. However, he had made a promise.

 

“I'd better get Holmes to ensure my black tie is ready. He's certainly earning his wages this week.”

 

“Your valet?” she asked.

 

“Yes. Fine man. Very fine man and excellent at his job.”

 

Lady Georgina's eyes narrowed at the wistfulness in Lord Gregory's tone that she doubted even he was aware of. There was a mystery there, but one she had no intention of unlocking. 

 

*

 

Anthea took Mycroft's arm as they left the music hall and made their way to the bus stop.

 

“Thank you for tonight,” she said, her eyes shining. “I needed cheering up.”

 

“We both did,” agreed Mycroft. “It's not very often I get the chance to go to anything like that. Thank you for the company.”

 

Anthea smiled and held his arm tighter.

 

“Anytime. It's good to have a friend who appreciates the same things. I'll miss this when her ladyship and I return to France.”

 

“You could stay,” ventured Mycroft. “Find yourself another position here in London.”

 

“No, I adore Lady Frances and she and I work very well together. Besides, I have a boyfriend over there who I'm rather keen on.”

 

“I'm happy for you,” said Mycroft sincerely.

 

“No chance of you working elsewhere either, is there?” Anthea asked.

 

‘'I don't know what you mean.”

 

“I've seen the way you look at him when you think no one's watching. It's okay, I won't tell but are you sure you're going to be happy with half a loaf all your life?”

 

“There's our bus,” said Mycroft, delighted to delay any further discussion. 

 

They shared a pot of tea with Mrs Hudson and made her laugh at their description of the music hall acts.

 

As Mycroft got himself ready for bed, he re-read the letter that had come for him that morning. He was badly torn about whether to acknowledge it but after Anthea's careless remarks he knew he would have to take action.

 

Lord Gregory's safety and wellbeing were the only things that mattered.

 

*

 

Mycroft was nervous as he knocked hard on the door of the servants entrance of the imposing London mansion.

 

A maid answered and looked him up and down.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I have an appointment with Mr Wishaw.” Mycroft said, removing his hat and smoothing down his hair.

 

“You'd better come in then.” she said. He crossed the threshold and let her guide him to the butler's pantry.

 

*

 

“You seem a little distracted tonight, Holmes.” Lord Gregory frowned at his valet who had fumbled fitting his cufflinks.

 

“Forgive me, my lord.”

 

“Nothing wrong, is there?”

 

_ Yes! Everything! I cannot bear to lose you and yet I must. _

 

“No, my lord. There you are.”

 

Mycroft held on to Lord Gregory's hand slightly longer than was entirely proper and blushed when he realised what he was doing, not seeing the startled pleasure in Lord Gregory's eyes.

 

“Another ball tonight, my lord?” Mycroft asked.

 

“Yes. Another coming out ball. Another load of canapes, cards and trying not to tread on other people's feet when you waltz.”

 

“Sounds delightful. Will Lady Georgina be there?”

 

Lord Gregory grinned. Was that a hint of  _ jealousy _ in Mycroft's voice? My, this evening was taking all manner of delicious twists and turns.

 

“She would have been, my dear Holmes but she sent me a note telling me she's indisposed.”

 

“Well, my lord, you shall just have to enjoy yourself without her.”

 

Lord Gregory stood up and looked Mycroft in the eye.

 

“I'd rather be at home with you, Holmes. One sentence from you is worth a million conversations with some of the boneheads I'll have to speak to tonight. Now don't wait up, I imagine it will be a very late night but I would appreciate tea in bed tomorrow.”

 

“Very good, my lord. Do try and enjoy your evening, even if the company is not quite that which you desire.”

 

And on  _ that _ enigmatic note, Mycroft left the room.

 

*

 

The string quartet were passable but there were more than a few dropped notes and Lord Gregory surreptitiously checked his watch to find out how soon he could leave without causing offence.

 

“Dreadful, aren't they?” The voice was familiar and Lord Gregory looked up to see the Earl of Moriarty looking at him.

 

“Not quite top notch, no.”

 

“What have you done with Georgie?”

 

“She's officially indisposed. Unofficially she received a new shipment of seeds and she's making sure they're planted and nurtured properly.”

 

“She's a rare woman. Tell me, Gregory. Play cards much?”

 

“Now and then. I'm not much of a gambler.”

 

“Come and meet a friend of mine. He might amuse you. He's not much of a gambler either.”

 

Curious, Lord Gregory followed him to the card room which was stuffy with cigar smoke. Moriarty led him to a table at the back.

 

“Lord Gregory Lestrade, may I introduce Colonel Sebastian Moran.”

 

The man stood up and extended his hand which Lord Gregory shook.

 

His first thought was how tall the other man was. Taller even than himself with blond hair and arresting green eyes. He also sported a duelling scar on one cheek which was surely a tale worth telling.His skin was weathered which spoke of time spent under a less forgiving sun than England's. The way he held himself screamed career military and his handshake was firm.

 

“My pleasure, my lord.”

 

Oh, such a soft, wooing voice. Guarded interest sparking in those emerald pools.

 

“Call me Gregory. How long have you been in town?”

 

They sat down. Neither of them noticed Moriarty leave.

 

“A mere few weeks. I thought I should take my leave here. Catch up with old acquaintances.”

 

“Where are you based, Colonel?”

 

“Sebastian, please. India for the most part, though my regiment did their bit in the last show.”

He shook his head. “Bloody awful mess. Were you there?”

 

“Grenadiers. Some of the things I saw…” Lord Gregory visibly shook himself. “Best not thought about.”

 

Colonel Moran toasted him with his whisky glass.

 

“I agree. I think India might suit you, Gregory. Lots of big game hunting, weather's good as long as you avoid the monsoon. Lots of servants if you need them.”

 

“I might consider it. Big game, you say?”

 

“Tigers. I still hold the record for the biggest bag in India.”

 

Lord Gregory leaned closer.

 

“I do like a chap who knows how to shoot. Perhaps you might be around for the Glorious Twelfth?”

 

There was a look in Moran's eye that sparked a rush of want in Lord Gregory and he shifted slightly in his seat.

 

“That depends. But I'm here now.”

 

“How fortunate my mother is out of town for a couple of days.” Lord Gregory said, trying not to sound too needy.

 

“Shall we, then?” asked the Colonel.

 

*

 

Mycroft balanced the tray of tea with one hand while knocking softly on Lord Gregory's bedroom door with the other. He walked in and placed the tray on the bedside table before opening the curtains.

 

“Good morning, my lord. Your tea…”

 

Mycroft was greeted by the sight of his beloved Lord Gregory wrapped in the arms of another man. A blond haired man with the devil in his eyes.

 

Mycroft and Lord Gregory made eye contact and, for the briefest of moments, Lord Gregory could read Mycroft's mind before the shutters descended and Mycroft was back to being a mere valet.

 

“Shall I fetch another cup, my lord?”

 

“If you would. Not a word about this, Holmes.”

 

“Naturally, my lord.”

 

Mycroft closed the bedroom door behind him, hoping the slight thud as he leaned against it wasn't audible to the pair inside.

 

His dream shattered, Mycroft went to find another teacup.

 

TBC

  
  



	9. Chapter Nine

Mycroft put the teacup on the tray with slightly more force than he had intended before turning on his heel and walking out of the bedroom.

 

Moran stirred lazily in Lord Gregory's arms and looked up at him.

 

“Your man not in the know then? Sorry, Gregory. Looks like you might be looking for a new valet.”

 

“I don't think so,” said Lord Gregory distractedly. “Holmes is the soul of discretion.”

 

“You're lucky,” yawned Sebastian. “Catch my batman being so obliging. Still, Army is very different to this.”

 

“Drink your tea,” said Lord Gregory, brandishing the cup at his lover who grinned and sipped at the excellent brew.

 

“I'll have to leave soon,” said Sebastian. He leaned in and kissed his lover warmly on the lips.

 

“I know,” sighed Lord Gregory. “Too bad we can't stay here all day.”

 

“That would cause a terrible scandal. There's bohemian and there's getting yourself arrested, dear boy, though I heartily approve of the idea. Now let me get dressed and I'll sneak out of the tradesman's entrance.”

 

Lord Gregory watched him gather his crumpled clothes from the bedroom floor and admired the swiftness of his dressing.

 

“I'll see you around, Gregory. You were magnificent.”  

 

With a quick smile, Sebastian vanished and Lord Gregory slumped back against his pillows. A little more sleep wouldn't hurt.

 

*

 

When he woke again, Lord Gregory rang for Mycroft. And waited. And waited.

 

“Damn the man!” he swore as he saw to his own bath and dressed himself.

 

The breakfast room was utterly devoid of breakfast, even though the fire had been lit.

 

Andrew, answering Lord Gregory's angry summons, quickly supplied him with enough breakfast food to feed an army and Lord Gregory tucked in. Sex always left him ravenous.

 

Afterwards, however, his discontent with his valet's behaviour returned. He rang for the housekeeper and was pleased by the alacrity of her attendance.

 

“Yes, my lord?” Mrs Hudson asked.

 

“I need to see Holmes. Send him up directly, will you?”

 

Mrs Hudson looked uncomfortable.

 

“I'm sorry, my lord, Mycroft isn't here.”

 

Lord Gregory felt his heart sink.

 

“What do you mean, he's not here? Where on earth is he?”

 

Mrs Hudson looked even more uncomfortable and her hands twined together tightly.

 

“I'm not entirely sure, my lord. Something upset him very badly this morning and he took off. He may have had news about his brother, I don't know.”

 

Lord Gregory had the grace to look away at that point and he mumbled

 

“Send him up to me the minute he returns. I shall be at my club for the rest of the day.”

 

“Very well, my lord. When are we to expect her ladyship back?”

 

“Possibly tomorrow,” sighed Lord Gregory, raking his hands through his hair. “Or when she arrives, more likely. Get Andrew to find me a cab, will you?”

 

“At once, my lord.” she replied, hurrying from the room.

 

*

 

Lord Gregory had no interest in joining any of the better-known gentlemen's clubs but the Outsiders suited him perfectly. It kept an excellent cellar and the food was first-class. There was no jockeying for position either, mostly because the members were, to some degree, queer.

 

Some preferred both men and women, others exclusively men. Some were incredibly unclubbable;shy, anxious or genuinely anti-social whatever their preference. The club catered for them all.

 

Lord Gregory threw himself into one of the chairs and ordered a large whisky from the steward. When it came he sat brooding over Mycroft and his sudden departure. He needed to talk to him. His heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again or worse, seeing nothing but contempt in his eyes.

 

“Gregory! I thought that was you. Where have you been, man?”

 

Lord Gregory turned to see Sebastian Wilkes bearing down on him with a younger man in reluctant tow. The stranger was tall and skinny with floppy blond hair and glasses. He looked both familiar and terrified to Lord Gregory. He mourned his loss of solitude and hoisted a smile on to his face.

 

“Hello, Seb. Who's this?”

 

“May I present Alexander, nineteenth Marquis of Chalfont. Alex, Lord Gregory Lestrade.”

 

“I know you, don't I?” Lord Gregory asked.

 

“Yes, You were in the Upper Sixth when I started Eton.”

 

“That's right. I never forget a face. Whatever are you doing in this den of iniquity?” Lord Gregory laughed, a question in his eyes that Sebastian dismissed with a shake of his head.

 

“Sebastian here has proposed me as a member. Somewhere to go when I'm in Town I suppose. May we join you?”

 

“Of course. Doing much this Season?”

 

“Alexander here is in need of a good woman, Gregory.” Sebastian interjected. “His mother insists. I would've helped out more but I'm still planning this bloody wedding of mine. What say, Gregory? Know of any available gels that won't object to Alex here spending most of his time in the lab?”

 

“Lab?” Gregory was confused.

 

“The laboratory. I've just graduated with a First in Chemistry and I'm rather keen to do a PhD.” Alexander explained. “Don't know many women who would put up with that, even if there was a title and a shedload of money in it.”

 

Lord Gregory sent up a silent  _ thank you _ to whichever benign deity had ordained this.

 

“There's a masked ball tonight at Rothwell House,” he informed the two other men. “Do you know it?”

 

“I've been invited,” Alexander admitted. “Wasn't going to bother, tell you the truth.”

 

“You should be there. You're going to have to trust me on that one.”

 

Alexander looked at Sebastian who shrugged.

 

“Can't do any harm.” he concluded.

 

*

 

When Lord Gregory returned home it was only to be informed that Mycroft had still not returned. His anger at his valet's abrupt departure was now threaded with worry. What if something had happened to him? Mycroft was no innocent but there were many traps for the unwary in the city. Lord Gregory hoped his Mycroft had not fallen into one.

 

In the end the long-suffering Andrew assisted him on getting ready for the ball. Lord Gregory clutched the wolf's mask in his hand as he waited for the cab to take him to the ball. As soon as he got there and surrendered his cloak and hat, he went in search of Lady Georgina.

 

He spotted Alexander in the corner wearing a simple domino mask and waved but didn't stop until he found his quarry.

 

Lady Georgina looked exquisite but her expression was positively mutinous.

 

“I can't believe I allowed Mother to drag me here tonight,” she complained. “There's hybridization I should be getting on with, not swanning around pretending I'm having a nice time. Though thank heavens you're here, Gregory.”

 

“And hello to you too,” he replied, smiling. “Come with me. There's someone I want you to meet.”

 

Taking her hand, he guided her to where Alexander was standing, looking as awkward and miserable as Lady Georgina felt.

 

“Hello again, Alexander,” said Lord Gregory in a pleasant tone. “May I introduce Lady Georgina? Georgie, this is Alexander, Marquess of Chalfont.”

 

Lady Georgina extended a hand which Alexander shook and favoured her with a small bow.

 

“An honour, Lady Georgina,” he said formally.

 

Lord Gregory decided to nudge things along a bit.

 

“He's thinking about a Phd in chemistry,” 

 

“Oh, you should absolutely do it,” insisted Lady Georgina.

 

“Georgie here is a botanist. Going to university in September.”

 

“Really? How wonderful!” gushed Alexander. “Lady Georgina, will you permit me to get you some champagne?”

 

“I'd be delighted,” she replied, smiling.

 

“I'll leave you two to get better acquainted,” whispered Lord Gregory in her ear and moved off in search of a strong whisky.

 

He was deeply gratified when, some hours later when it was polite to leave, the young couple were still talking away to each other, Alexander making wild gestures with his hands and grinning like a madman while Georgie laughed, her eyes warm and intrigued.

 

It was after three in the morning when Lord Gregory got home and he only had the energy to strip to his underwear before crawling under the blankets. He was asleep in seconds.

 

The next morning, his head still thick and fuzzy from sleep, Lord Gregory pulled the bell cord, more in hope than expectation.

 

To his amazement, Mycroft answered. Immaculate as ever, his expression every inch the professional, he stood just inside Lord Gregory's bedroom.

 

“Holmes! Where the  _ hell _ were you yesterday? You had us worried to death! Well? Don't just stand there! Answer me, damnit!”

 

“Forgive me, my lord. There were a few things I needed to finalise. Today will be my last day of employment here. Consider this my notice.”

 

TBC

  
  



	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has loved this, left kudos and comments. I treasure every single one.

Lord Gregory stared at Mycroft as if he had just grown another head.

 

“No…” he groaned. “Mycroft. You can't.”

 

“I must. My lord, I have no choice.”

 

Lord Gregory's anger died as quickly as it had risen when he saw the expression that Mycroft was unable to hide any longer. He got up from the bed and moved closer to him.

 

“Why, Mycroft? Why do you want to leave me?”

 

Mycroft swallowed audibly, Lord Gregory there, tousled and still bedwarm, was all too enticing. 

 

“My lord, I…”

 

Mycroft stuttered to a halt, Lord Gregory's index finger on his lips.

 

“Yesterday morning,” Lord Gregory went on. “Did you have any idea how you looked at me? For once you were an open book. You were not merely shocked to find me with a man; you were stricken that the man wasn’t you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  
  


“I can't,” said Mycroft, a sob in his voice. “You're not wrong, Gregory.”

 

“So you do want me then?” asked Lord Gregory triumphantly.

 

“No.”

 

“What?”

 

Lord Gregory gasped out loud as Mycroft grasped him by the upper arms and pushed him against the bedroom wall. Mycroft’s eyes were blazing;Lord Gregory had never seen so much passion in his valet before and it was fanning the flames of his own passion very high, very quickly.

 

“I don’t just  _ want  _ you. Would you have me use you and discard you like a shirt I no longer cared for?” hissed Mycroft. “I am in love with you. I adore you. Everything about you.If the Fates had been kind, you would never have known but they have never been so to me. 

I can no longer live under the same roof, watching you trying to drown yourself in alcohol or fuck away the bad memories. I thought that merely seeing you every day would be enough, but I’m a greedy, possessive man, Gregory. It is in no way enough and I wish to kill the next man who so much as lays a finger on you.”

 

“What if that man were you?” whispered Lord Gregory.

 

“Suicide is a crime, “ said Mycroft, the beginnings of a slightly deranged smile forming on his face as he leaned in and kissed the lips that had tempted him from the first second he had seen them.

 

Lord Gregory responded with wild enthusiasm, deepening the kiss, running his hands through Mycroft’s hair, down his long, slender neck and twining around his valet, holding him close as the kiss continued, only the need to breathe made them stop.

 

“You are an utter fool, Mycroft,” Lord Gregory whispered into Mycroft’s neck in between laying soft kisses down its length. “Did it never occur to you that I might love you as well?”

 

“Only in my most impassioned dreams,” replied Mycroft before he kissed Lord Gregory again.

 

“Dreams?” laughed Lord Gregory as Mycroft’s thigh slid between his legs, creating a painfully beautiful friction “ Sordid ones, I hope?”

 

“Utterly filthy, my love.”

 

“Why don’t you,” said Lord Gregory, slightly nervous. “Lock the bedroom door and show me?”

 

Mycroft looked deep into Lord Gregory’s deep brown eyes and saw no reluctance, only anticipation.

 

“Very well, “ he agreed. “Though it may pay you to remember, my love, who is the master in this bedroom. In here, you do as you are told.”

 

He didn’t think the pupils of his lover’s eyes could dilate any more but was delighted to be wrong. That and the highly anticipative shiver that shook Lord Gregory’s entire body.

 

“Lock the door, please.”

 

For the last time that day, Mycroft did as he was told.

 

*

 

Mycroft passed the next few days in a wonderful, erotic daze. Never could he have imagined just how incredible sex with someone you love could be. In spite of the extreme pleasure, a nagging doubt was driving him to distraction. This couldn’t keep happening. Something would occur and reveal his Utopia for what it truly was.

 

In the time he was not with his lover, Mycroft’s mind worked constantly on a solution. He had the glimmering of one when, very late when the rest of the staff had retired, he crept along the corridor to Lord Gregory’s bedroom where he was received with open arms.

 

Mycroft had no concept of time. It could have been five minutes, hours or several fever-ridden weeks but he had no desire at all to rise from the sweat soaked sheets, not when his lover had him in such a tender embrace. They had made love for what felt like an eternity. He had left no inch of his lover unexplored, no flesh unkissed but he didn’t think he would ever have enough of such a scintillating man. Yet there was a conversation to be had and, now that they had temporarily sated themselves, seemed to be the right time.

 

“You know I can’t stay here?” said Mycroft.

 

“Why not? This bed is more than big enough for us both. In any position you care to name.” said Lord Gregory with a salacious grin.

 

Mycroft swatted his lover on his highly-enticing arse before sitting up and looking at him properly.

 

“That’s not what I mean, tempting though it is. I have to leave your employment, beloved. Take up that post as butler that I was offered. I can’t stay here, sneaking into your room night after night. It just won’t do, Gregory.”

 

Lord Gregory sat up as well and Mycroft was saddened to see the loving light dimming in his eyes.

 

“You’re making sense, dammit.” he huffed. “My staff are very fine people, but there are limits to even  _ their  _ tolerance. How shall we proceed?”

 

Mycroft cupped his lover’s face in his hands with the utmost tenderness.

 

“That depends on you, my love. How far are you prepared to go?”

 

“I have no life without you, none that I am prepared to put up with,” Lord Gregory declared. “Do you have a plan?”

 

Mycroft smiled. “It may be fiendishly difficult to carry out, and there will be no quick solution, however much we may wish it.”

 

“Go on,” urged Lord Gregory.

 

“We will also need the help of your mother.”

 

“My WHAT!” Lord Gregory visibly recoiled.

 

“Calm yourself, my darling.” soothed Mycroft. “ She will be an ally, I have no doubt that she loves you very deeply and cares only for your happiness. Anthea had also said that she honestly doesn’t give a fig what the rest of Society says or does, so losing face will not be an issue for her, just as long as there is no scandal attached. Does that sound plausible?”

 

“Actually, yes. What exactly do you have in mind?”

 

Mycroft smiled.

 

*

 

Lady Frances returned to Cadogan Place in high spirits two days later. She sipped sherry in the drawing room as she reviewed the invitations that had accumulated in her absence, discarding the majority of them with a snort of impatience. She looked up as the door opened.

 

“Gregory! About time you showed your nose. Come and have some sherry.”

 

Lord Gregory’s hands were sweating as he poured himself a schooner of the pale liquid and sat down beside his mother. Two frown lines appeared on her face as she surveyed him.

 

“Your cuff is frayed. What kind of valet is this Holmes to get you attired in such a slovenly fashion?”

 

“An absent one, Mother. Mycroft left my employment two weeks ago to join the Earl of Rutland’s staff.”

 

“He’ll be bored stiff. Willie Rutland entertains about as often as a corpse.”

 

She gave her son a piercing look and sighed.

 

“Out with it, Gregory. I know that look. What did you do to the poor man to make him leave after almost fifteen years service?”

 

“It’s more what we did to each other. Mother, I need to have a frank discussion with you where I am sure no one can overhear us. Would you do me the honour of taking a walk with me?”

 

“Honestly, Gregory. You are impossible sometimes.” she huffed but he saw her smile and the glint in her eye as she rang for her hat and coat and silently blessed the observation skills of his darling.

 

They found an empty bench in Regent’s Park. Lord Gregory took his mother’s hands in his and started talking. To her credit, Lady Frances did not interrupt until he finished, wiping his eyes as he described how Mycroft had left him.

 

“That man is far too clever to be a mere valet, “ she opined. “ The security services that keep our Empire safe have missed out on a superb operative. Anthea speaks very well of him and I can offer you no higher praise than that.”

 

She clapped her hands together gleefully.

 

“This will be a lark! I know just the fellow, actually, who may help you.”

 

Then her expression became grave.

 

“You do realise, my boy, that you can never return to England? The title will die with you. Is this fellow of yours, this Mycroft, also willing to leave everything behind. For you?”

 

“Mother, we love each other. All we want is to be together. That will never happen here and I would not shame him by offering to set him up in a flat so that I might visit him to slake my lust.That is the surest way in the world to get caught. He deserves a full and equal partnership. It’s the only way.”

 

“Very well. I suggest we return home, my boy. We have a great deal of work to do.”

 

“Thank you, Mother. It means a great deal to me that you support us in this.”

 

There was a deeply tender look on her face as he helped her to her feet.

 

“You are my son. And I am very,  _ very  _ proud of you.”

 

*

 

_ One Month Later _

  
  
  


At a crush in Lord and Lady Wilmot's mansion in Chelsea, Lady Frances sipped on her glass of champagne, her eyes scanning the room. Lady Wilmot was the biggest gossip in London, completely unable to keep anything to herself. As a result, she had almost no intimates but she would serve Lady Frances's purpose admirably.

 

_ “ _ Lady Frances! My dear, where on Earth have you been?” Lady Wilmot exclaimed.

 

“My dear Isadora,” said Lady Frances. “This has been a most trying time for me. I would not even have come tonight if not for the fact that it was your party and you have always thrown the very best.”

 

As Lady Wilmot preened, Lady Frances sighed.

 

“But my dear,” said Lady Wilmot, a concerned hand placed on Lady Frances's elbow. “Whatever is the matter? Can I assist you in any way?”

 

“It's Gregory.” Lady Frances looked bleak. “My poor boy…” she broke off, dabbing her eyes with a scrap of lace.

 

“You can tell me, my dear. What has happened?”

 

“He is...unwell. I believe his experiences in the war were too much for him and his poor mind could not cope with the memory of such horrors any more. I had an alienist, fine fellow by the name of Watson, see him. He believes my poor boy's mind will never recover. He's seen a lot of cases like it.He has recommended that Gregory retire from Society and live somewhere quiet, well away from anything that might remind him if what he went through.”

 

Lady Wilmot looked both intrigued and horrified.

 

“Poor boy. I know you had such hopes for him and Georgina. Has he returned to Derwent Hall?”

 

Lady Frances shook her head.

 

“No, it would be too much for him. I have a couple of properties in the south of France and he will live in the vineyard villa. It's very tranquil; quite isolated. The fresh air and sunshine will do wonders, I'm sure.”

 

“Will he be safe there?”

 

“Oh, yes. He has a good man to care for him. An excellent man, in fact. One of strong character and fine disposition. My Gregory is in the very best of hands.”

 

As Lady Wilmot moved away, no doubt to tell every single person she saw about poor Lord Lestrade, Lady Frances smiled to herself. Only the final part of that statement was the absolute truth, her Gregory had landed himself a very fine man indeed and she would do everything in her power to see that they were left in peace.

 

*

 

_ Six Years Later _

 

Mycroft sat on the verandah of the house and turned his face up to the autumn sunshine. In the distance he could see rows and rows of vines, their ripe fruit ready for plucking.

 

He heaved a contented sigh. In his wildest dreams he would never have imagined that he would have obtained Paradise on Earth and yet he had.

 

The main reason for that was walking up the path towards the villa, a broad smile on his handsome face. Mycroft felt his heart skip a beat every time he saw his Gregory, it was a thrill that never diminished.

 

Lord Gregory took Mycroft in his arms for a long, tender kiss. Mycroft poured them both wine and they sat enjoying the view and each other.

 

“Michel reckons we'll do very well with the Merlot this year,” said Lord Gregory with a grin.

 

“I'm sure he's right,” smiled Mycroft. No one would believe the transformation in his lover.Unused to being completely idle he had taken on the tiny vineyard attached to the villa and set about improving it. He worked as hard as anyone in the vineyard and, under his care, it had flourished, producing cask after cask of the finest wine.

 

“I visited the  _ poste restante _ today,” said Mycroft. 

 

“Anything interesting?” Lord Gregory asked, helping himself to more wine.

 

“Letter from your mother and one from my brother. He sent a copy of The Times which he thought I might find interesting.”

 

“Interesting how?”

 

Silently Mycroft handed Lord Gregory the paper which was open at the announcements page. Lord Gregory read it aloud.

 

“The Earl and Countess of Wexford are delighted to announce the engagement of their only daughter Georgina, to Alexander, Marquess of Chalfont.”

 

Lord Gregory looked at the man he loved and smiled.

 

“Well, Georgie never did rush into anything. Good for her.”

 

Mycroft reached over and patted his lover's hand.

 

“I hope they'll be as happy as we are, my love.” he said, his tone wistful.

 

“That's all anyone should ever hope for, my darling.” Lord Gregory replied.

 

The End.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
